


I Bet You'd Never...

by Darksidekelz



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Inappropriate Usage of a Microscope, M/M, Self-Service, Sticky, Vouyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor had never wanted to dwell on the purpose of Brainstorm's microscope collection.  Unfortunately, now that he knows, he can't stop thinking about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Didn't Know it Could Do THAT

Brainstorm had crossed a line this time.  Perceptor was well aware of the bothersome jet's propensity for pilfering things from his laboratory - raw materials, tools, schematics - it was something of a faux pas, but he'd come to expect such behaviors from Brainstorm, and usually let them slide.

But never before had he been so brazen as to steal personal affairs.  This wasn't about furthering his career - that was logical, or furthering scientific discovery - that was noble (or would be if Brainstorm had ever come up with more than one invention that possessed more than a modicum of practical application).  Perceptor could accept such motives, even if Brainstorm's actions proved a constant hindrance.  But to steal his scope's _cleaning rag_?!  That was too far!  What use did Brainstorm have for such a thing?  It wasn't like they were in low supply of rags, and though he kept an abnormally large supply of microscopes in his workshop, they weren't exactly sentient enough to appreciate the precise arrangement of fine organic fibers of this _paritulcar_ rag, imported from Earth, that felt nearly orgasmic to the sensitive metal of his scope . . . He _hoped_ they weren't sentient enough, anyway.  You never knew with Brainstorm.

The point was, the rag was Perceptor's, and Brainstorm had no business stealing it for . . . whatever inane purpose he intended to put it to.  He shuddered to contemplate.

It was thus, with a great sense of indignation, that he stomped down the halls of the _Lost Light_ , passing by Chromedome, Rodimus, Jackpot, and any other number of mechs irrelevant to his current predicament.  His destination was Brainstorm's workshop, and nobody was fool enough to stand between an angry microscope-sniper and his target.

Save for maybe automated doors.

He stood before the entrance to Brainstorm's workshop, glaring at the sliding door that refused to, well, _slide_ open for him.  Brainstorm had locked the place down, which either meant that he wasn't in, or that he was up to something _dastardly_.  Perceptor didn't care which.  The doors were easy enough to hack, and if Brainstorm _wasn't_ around, well, _two_ could play at the game of thievery.

A small part of Perceptor's brain noted how petty he was being.  It was promptly ignored.  The problem was only going to get worse until he put an end to it, after all.  It was better to do this sooner than later, lest he wake up one day lacking a body part or two.  Thievery was a slippery slope, after all.

He opened an interface jack on his arm and plugged into the door's keypad, making short work of Brainstorm's inane security.  The mech may have been a self-proclaimed genius, but nobody knew numbers like Perceptor.  The door slid open.

The lights were dimmed.  Brainstorm must not have been in.  Good.  He could go in, find his rag, and maybe snag one of Brainstorm's creepy microscopes or something on the way out.

"Primus!"

Okay, so he was here after all.

The shriek had come from somewhere behind the pile of junk that was Brainstorm's workstation, and it had sounded rather pained.  Perceptor had half a mind to leave him to get out of whatever mess he'd landed himself in on his own.  But on the other hand, this _was_ Brainstorm.  His messes had a nasty tendency to be a little - what was the word?  Catastrophic.  Perceptor crept closer, hoping that what'd he'd heard was a fluke.  A trip to the med bay would certainly diminish the gravitas of whatever points he was trying to make.  Besides, he wasn't a babysitter.

There was panting now, tiny whimpers.  The outlook was proving to be grim.  And then, just as he was preparing to deliver a cursory, 'Are you all right?' . . .

"Mmm, Perceptor."

 So _that_ was it.  He should have known.  

It was time to go.  The verbal takedown could wait.  The last thing he needed was Brainstorm finding out that Perceptor knew his 'not-so secret' secret.  Perceptor wished he could say that he was surprised to have confirmation that Brainstorm fantasized about him while interfacing, but that would have been a gross exaggeration.  He turned to leave.

"I know you're jealous of my genius - hrk - go on, frag me like you mean it."

Perceptor froze in his steps.  What utter poppycock!  _Him!_   Jealous?!  Brainstorm may have given life to a few notable inventions that Perceptor graciously would admit to being far beyond  anything he could have done, but to say he was jealous showed a vast misunderstanding of his character.  Jealous!  What a laugh.

"You call that - argh - fragging?!  Put your spinal struts into it."

Perceptor would deny until the day he perished that Brainstorm's misguided attempts at dirty-talk were actually having an effect on him.  The heat pooling behind his interface panels was a rare, but not unheard of, side-effect to the indignation he felt, and had nothing to do with arousal.

"Mmm.  How does it feel, Percy?  Can you see inside of me like that?"

Wait, what?  What was he doing?  Perceptor turned around, and with all of the stealthy grace the life of a Wrecker had granted him, stalked towards Brainstorm's weapons cabinet, where the voice was originating.

"Of course you can!  What's it like?  Can you see how you're affecting me?  Can see my nodes lighting up?  My calipers rippling?  Or how about - mmm - this?  Oooh, I wish I could see too!  Whoa!  _There's_ an idea!"

Perceptor peered around the cabinet, bracing himself for the worst. 

What he found was Brainstorm,   balanced on his knees, back arched in a delicious curve, head thrown back in ecstasy, wings fluttering every few nanokliks.  Seated nicely between the lips of his valve was one of his small collection of unsettling microscopes, flashes of its handsome red body visible as Brainstorm rolled his hips against it.  On the floor around him were more of his prized microscopes, in a wide variety of sizes.  Again, Perceptor was not in the least surprised to know what kind of unpleasant business he got up to with his toys, though he _was_ surprised by the way his vents kicked on full blast at the sight.  He manually overrode them, though he had difficulty explaining why.  Here he was spying on Brainstorm getting himself off with the assistance of a device explicitly designed to resemble Perceptor's alt mode.  Which one of them was the bigger creep?

Brainstorm slumped over, collapsing onto his hands, still panting, but not yet overloaded.  "Ugh, Percy, you expect to get me off like _that_?  _Please_!  I'm not even halfway there yet!  Am I gonna have to," his eyes glinted mischievously, "trade up?"  He turned his head to indicate another microscope, larger than the one Brainstorm was currently seated on, but still quite a bit smaller than Perceptor's alt mode.  Something of that size would surely never fit in Brainstorm's valve.  There was only so far the calipers could be stretched before they snapped, and based on the proportions of Brainstorm's frame, it would only take up to -

Perceptor lost his train of thought as Brainstorm slid off of the microscope, leaving a slick trail of lubricant behind him, which he promptly turned to lick off with half-shuttered optics.  Perceptor had to force his vents off once again.  The heat growing inside his panels was beginning to grow dangerous, and his own valve was dripping copiously with lubricants - he needed to leave, take care of his own business, but watching Brainstorm was just too enthralling.

"Sorry you couldn't cut it Percy."  He was talking to his microscope.  That should not have been half so arousing as it was.  "But don't feel bad.  I will always be grateful for your place on my path to bigger, and well - _better_ things!"  He slid on his hands and knees to the larger microscope.  "Pleased to meet you, Perceptor 2.0!"  He caressed its scope lovingly, rubbing a cheek against the tube, lathering it with his tongue.  Perceptor watched, transfixed.  "I'm sure we'll be, ah, great friends!"

And then he rose up, carefully positioning his valve over the eye piece.  Perceptor had to stop him.  The idiot was going to hurt himself!  The scope was simply too big, and he hadn't even taken the time to -

Brainstorm lowered himself onto the neck of the microscope, slowly, letting his head loll back as if there were no struts to hold it up.  "Primus, Perceptor.  You're good."  He wasn't able to take all of it inside of him, but he still managed more than he had any right to.  Perceptor's spike was begging for permission to release - and this time, he couldn't turn it down.  He retracted his panels; his spike fully pressurized the moment it was free.  He ran a hand gently down its length.  This was so messed up.

"So big, and - and, ah," he whimpered, collapsing forward to support his trembling frame on hands and knees once more.  His wings pulsed at his sides - up, down, up, down - in time with the roll of his hips.  Perceptor stroked himself with a little more force.  "And so - ack!"  He choked, as he's presumably nudged the microscope into a particularly sensitive node.

"Oh Perceptor, I'm so close!"  And Perceptor was too, to be honest.  He dipped two fingers into his own valve, working himself in time to Brainstorm's performance.  And then, the pretty jet stiffened, wings flaring wide at his sides.  He let out a nearly incomprehensible barrage of 'Perceptors,' mixed in with copious moaning, and his entire frame shook as he drove himself through the overload, before finally collapsing forward, sliding off of the massive microscope.  The way his gaping, empty valve twitched longingly around the air, practically begging for something to fill it up again, was enough to finally push Perceptor over the edge.

"Frag!" he cried out, releasing transfluid over his hands, but the pleasure of the overload was over all too soon.  He was painfully aware that this had indeed just become a 'frag' kind of moment.  Brainstorm stiffened instantaneously, panels snapping shut, and he clamored to his feet, whirling on Perceptor's hiding place.  His yellow eyes widening in realization.

"Perceptor?" he called out.

At least Perceptor had managed to safely retract his spike and close off his panels before Brainstorm was able to see.  The last thing he wanted to do was explain _that_.  Shame safely hidden away, he stepped out from behind the cabinet, and said the only thing he could at a time like this.  "Yes."  It was amazing how deadpan his voice came out.

"Uh . . ."  Brainstorm hesitated.  "How much of that did you see?"

"Enough."

Brainstorm's wide-eyed, cornered animal expression melted away at the reply, and a cocky grin broke out on his mouth.  "So, what'd you think?  You enjoy yourself?"  Ah yes, Brainstorm's answer for dealing with stressful situations - joking.  He needed to get out of here before he made matters worse.

"I thought your actions were reckless, and your obsession makes me the smallest bit uncomfortable."

"Reckless?!"  Brainstorm's eyes narrowed in a mockery of fury - or at least, it was _probably_ a mockery.  "I'll have you know that I had everything under control!  I've been working myself up to that big one for a _long_ time now.  I've got certain _goals_ in mind."  Perceptor did not like the way Brainstorm was looking at his scope.  "Besides, what are you even _doing_ in here?!  The door was locked, you creeper!"

"I came to get my cleaning rag." He looked to the microscopes on the floor, still dripping with lubricant.  "Actually, on second thought, you can keep it.  I don't think I'm comfortable with knowing to what purposes you have employed it, but I would ask that you refrain from stealing personal effects from me in the future.  The supplies I can tolerate.  The ideas - fine.  But do not touch things which you have no business touching.  I will not ask nicely next time."  With that, he turned on his heel and marched right back out of the workshop the way he'd come, leaving Brainstorm alone to clean up after himself.  He didn't care that there were still other mechs in the hall, and he didn't care that his hands were still covered in his own transfluid.  Nobody was foolish enough to ask questions.

Right now, all he wanted to do was get back to his own quarters, get cleaned up, and forget that he had ever allowed himself to lose control so easily.  And maybe forget about everything he'd witnessed in the past several kliks.  They had been some of the most surreal of his life, and he'd had the downright bizarre experience of bearing witness to an invasion of trans-dimensional zombie-robots.  But try as he might, he couldn't get that image of Brainstorm riding himself to overload on a big, _red_ microscope out of his head - couldn't help but picture himself in its place.

His thoughts were mercifully dispersed, as he felt a small tug on his arm.  He ripped it out of the grasp of Tailgate, and whirled around to fix him with a cold (and easily misconstrued as murderous) stare.  Once his audials caught up to his brain, however, he realized that the naive little mech had only had been trying to  ask what was wrong.  After being on the receiving end Perceptor's overreaction, he seemed to reassess his decision with an unprecedented haste, and promptly slunk off, offering a cascade of apologies as he went.  This was getting out of hand.

Perceptor deflated once the little bot was out of sight.  He needed to get Brainstorm off of his mind.  He'd head over to the washracks, get cleaned up, and then return to his laboratory and throw himself into his newest research project.  There was much to be learned regarding the newly established 'multiverse' theory, after all, and he had a number of new hypotheses he was looking to test.  It would do him good, clear his head, and make him forget any of this had ever happened.

At least, he hoped it would.

 


	2. But Should You Ever . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor does everything he can to dispel thoughts of that surreal encounter from his processor, but nothing seems to work.

The next few weeks were among the most awkward of Perceptor's life.  He may have walked straight into a surreal fantasy, but reality still insisted on proceeding, as was its wont.  He still had work to do, and moreover, he still had work to do with Brainstorm.  A lot of work.  He hadn't missed the way that the two of them had been scheduled together more often than not these days, sequestered away in Brainstorm's workshop, with Brainstorm working away on some new and unbelievably inane endeavor, and Perceptor in gratifying role of . . . assisting him.  He would've thought Brainstorm had requested the arrangement, were it not for the fact that he, too, seemed to be enjoying the experience less than anticipated.

Which wasn't saying much.

Brainstorm was still impossibly flippant, flirty, immature, and thoughtless as ever, but Perceptor's keen eye made special note of the way the mech was keeping himself a good two meters away from Perceptor's person at all times, which was quite the feat for him.

It was for the better anyway.  Perceptor was having difficulty enough focusing in such close proximity as it was, without the situation being exacerbated by the usual direct physical contact he'd come to expect from Brainstorm.

Every glimpse of that teal plating caused him to muse over just how well it would look pressed flush against his own red plating.  Every twitch of grey wings, made him want to reach out and stroke them, just to make shiver and flutter by his own hand.  Every _single_ movement that Brainstorm made, overwhelmed his processor with images of that lithe body, locked in rhythmic motion, pleasuring itself around that damned microscope, made him contemplate what it would feel like to be buried deep within that pretty little valve.  Not with his scope, of course!  That was simply a preposterous notion!  No, his spike would be more than sufficient, though he did concede to imagine a certain skilled glossa working its way around the sensitive lens, nonetheless. 

And here he was again, hot and horny and staring blindly at an equation he should've been able to solve while in the depths of recharge, while Brainstorm prattled on about something inconsequential two stations away.

He didn't know how long he'd be able to go on like this.  How long he could waste valuable work time fantasizing about his co-worker, how long he could stand to return to his room every night, only to waste more time jacking off, stroking himself to overload while thoughts of a certain teal mech ran rampant through his processor again and again - he'd have to make some new toys to satisfy himself if this continued much longer.  Naturally, that would waste even _more_ time - time that could've been better spent solving life's great mysteries.  Was this what it was like to be a base mech like Brainstorm?  He shuddered to think.

One thing was for certain.  Either he'd fuck Brainstorm soon, or the two of them were going to get over their mutual embarrassment, and have a nice, long conversation about boundaries.  He really hoped it would be the latter.

~~~

The shifts with Brainstorm did not cease.  If anything, they continued to occur with even greater frequency.  Perceptor was so on-edge these days that those around him were starting to pick up on it.  Tailgate had been the first victim of his ire, but he was far from the last.  He'd been unnecessarily rude with Highbrow when the other had made a trivial miscalculation in the lab.  He'd gotten snippy with Mainframe, who had begged him to cover the rest of his shift so he could go gallivanting about with Jackpot.  He'd snapped at Blaster for playing his music too loud, and at Chromedome for having the misfortune of occupying a doorway he was trying to go through.  He'd even been cranky enough to back-talk Megatron.

Megatron didn't strike him in retaliation, but that fact could be attributed solely to the presence of Ultra Magnus.

"This behavior is most unlike you, Perceptor," Megatron said with a strained voice.  Holding back his wrath was clearly proving quite the effort for the former warlord.  "I don't know what's gotten you so on-edge lately, but I suggest you remove yourself from it. I will not have my science officer behaving in such an unseemly way.  Do I make myself clear?"

Perceptor stood in Megatron's shadow, optics humbly cast to the floor.  He did not appreciate his own behavior either.  "Understood Sir."

"Then you are dismissed."

Perceptor perused the entirety of the situation in a nanosecond, coming upon the most simple solution to Megatron's orders.  If the both of them wanted this problem solved with expediency, then his best option was to pursue action here and now.  "Sir?"

Megatron whirled around, again preparing to strike, but catching himself before any blows were dealt.  "Do I need to remind you the meaning of the word 'dismissed?'"

"No Sir.  I am complying with your previous order."

All at once, Megatron's barely-suppressed rage vanished.  He cocked his helm.  "Is that so?"

"You stated that you wish for me to distance myself from the subject of my recent irritation.  I have pinpointed the subject as my increase of shifts in close-quarters with Brainstorm.  Ordinarily, I would set aside my misgivings, and work through my displeasure, but I feel that my skills would be best utilized in application to my own projects, rather than squandered away keeping Brainstorm's more unscrupulous of notions in line.  And with a recent altercation between the two of us exacerbating the tension, I feel that there's been a negative effect on my psyche."

"So you are requesting fewer shifts with Brainstorm?" Megatron asked, raising an optic ridge.  "Strange, I haven't ordered any recent changes to the schedule.  I shall look into it."

"Thank you sir."  Perceptor felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his spark.  If he could only create a little distance between the two of them, then gathering the tattered remains of his dignity would prove simple.  He could trust Megatron, as peculiar as that sounded.  He may have been a genocidal tyrant, but he was a reliable leader.  Perceptor would only have to put up with the consuming lust for a little longer.  He could do it . . .

~~~

After his conversation with Megatron, the shifts with Brainstorm all but ceased, much to Perceptor's relief.  Instead, he got to spend his next midday work shift in Rodimus's office, a most unusual occurrence, but at least it would afford him the opportunity for peace of mind.  At least, that was his intention.  It was with wary optics that he watched his co-captain, balancing an energy blade precariously on the tip of a finger.  On second thought . . .

"Ah, Perceptor.  Glad you could make it," Rodimus said, wearing that same cocky grin he always maintained so effortlessly.

"My presence _was_ requested, though I cannot possibly imagine why we have met in your quarters.  Wouldn't the bridge be more appropriate?  Or even my laboratory?"

Rodimus dropped the knife, sitting up straight as if afraid Perceptor might run off at the slightest provocation.  What a peculiar thing to do.  "No!  I needed you here for a very specific reason!" he protested.

"And that was?"

"I uh - I needed you to fix that uh - that thing, over there."  He pointed a jerky finger at an object somewhere to Perceptor's back.  He turned to look.

"The door?"  It was the only remotely notable object in the vicinity.

"Yes!  The door!" he said with a manic cackle.  "It's broken and I need you to fix it."

That was almost certainly not the reason he'd been called here.  Perceptor was among the smartest mechs on the ship, Rodimus would say _the_ smartest, but Perceptor preferred not to speak in absolutes.  A broken door was a simple fix, and most assuredly beneath his skill level.  Still, he figured it was in his best interests not to protest.  Rodimus would get around to saying what he wanted to say sooner or later.  He turned towards the door, and began scanning its status with the keen eye of his scope.

"So, have you fragged Brainstorm yet?"

Perceptor froze.  He'd come out with that much sooner than anticipated.

" That is a _very_ unprofessional question."  He didn't even bother with giving Rodimus the courtesy of eye contact.

"Right.  My bad.  That _is_ pretty personal."  A pause, one that lasted no more than two point three nanokliks.  "So, have you?"

" _No._ "  Would the specter of Brainstorm _ever_ leave him in peace?  He didn't even need to be in the room to prove upsetting.

"Why not?"

Perceptor had to repeat the words in his head three times before they sunk in.  Was this conversation _really_ happening?  It certainly maintained the surrealism of a dream, and yet his systems told him he was wide awake.  Perhaps he'd ingested some bad energon?  Highbrow's earlier blunder was probably to blame . . . or Brainstorm.  Probably the latter, now that he thought about it.

"Is it really necessary for me to explain why I might be unwilling to interface with particular individuals?"

Rodimus was playing with the knife again, rolling it across the backs of his fingers, grin cocky as ever.  "I think you'd be great together."

"I'm not interfacing with Brainstorm.  May we please desist with this uncomfortable, highly-personal line of conversation?"

His request was, of course, ignored. 

"Come on, Percy!  We've fallen on a lot of hard times lately, and the crew needs something cheerful to boost their spirits.  A wedding, as the humans call it!  And here I am, the captain, all ready and raring to perform the special ceremony, to unite two sparks as one . . ."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Brainstorm!  Of all of the bots on this ship, no one has more unresolved sexual tension than the two of you, so I say resolve it!  I've got a gong all ready to gong once the two of you finally hook up!"

It was useless to argue with Rodimus.  He was about as divorced from reality as one could get, and certainly more than a captain had any right to be.  Perceptor was savvy enough to see through the deception lying within the captain's words.  If it was a wedding he wanted, there were other mechs better suited towards his designs.  Tailgate and Cyclonus came to mind, as did Jackpot and Mainframe, or even Swerve and . . . Ten.  Just about any other random pairing of bots on the ship would be preferable for Rodimus's purposes.  But no.  He wanted Brainstorm and Perceptor together; for what reason, Perceptor couldn't contemplate.  At least he had a working hypothesis as to who had been responsible for the increase in shifts with Brainstorm as of late.

"Your door is not broken."

"Huh?"

"There is nothing wrong with this door.  It is in perfect operating condition."  He narrowed his optics, this time staring Rodimus straight in his own.  "I do not appreciate being summoned under false pretenses.  Please do not do so again."  And then he left, at last free from that twisted, dreamlike reality.  Unfortunately, the conversation had left his thoughts dominated by Brainstorm again, panels wide open, revealing the sweet treasures beneath.  Brainstorm, mask retracted, mouth open and panting, optics bright with lust.  Brainstorm, plating burning and fans on full blast, his entire body writhing with each thrust as Perceptor pounded into him . . . Dammit.

~~~

It had been three days since he'd last had the displeasure of working with Brainstorm, and in that entire time, he had managed to avoid contact with the mech altogether.  In the past several hours, he'd even managed overcome the insurmountable challenge of repelling all thoughts of Brainstorm from his mind.  It was a good few hours.

It _had been_ a good few hours, anyway, that was drawn to an abrupt close by a knock on his door.  It was late.  Who in their right mind would be calling on him at this hour?  Alas, curiosity always _had_ been one of Perceptor's weak points.  He opened the door.

And there was Brainstorm, shuffling nervously like a young Autobot before his first field mission.  Immediately, all of three days' effort came crumbling down around him the moment his optics registered that gorgeous teal plating.

"Brainstorm."

"Ah, hi!" he replied, waving shyly.

"Why are you standing in front of my room?"

For a moment, those yellow optics widened, fearful that he'd committed some kind of faux pas in coming here.  And then it was replaced by his usual forced confidence.  "Because you haven't let me in yet!  Where are your manners, Perceptor?  Are we fleshies, or are we _bots_?"

Stunned by the brazenness of the response, Perceptor stood to the side, letting Brainstorm bounce cheerfully into his room.  Why had he done that?  Immediately, his mind began wandering in the direction of where this might end - Brainstorm beneath him, whimpering, squealing, muttering without cessation: _"You make it feel so good.  Don't Stop!  I'm so close!  Perceptor!!"_. . .  He couldn't let it end there.

"Let me rephrase that.  Why have you come here?"  Perceptor folded his arms, mostly to remove the temptation of wrapping them around Brainstorm.

"I haven't seen you in a few days.  It struck me as suspicious, so I thought I'd swing by to see what was up!"  To his credit, the concern in Brainstorm's optics did appear to be genuine.

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine," Perceptor said coldly.  "They require my presence on the bridge more frequently as of late, so . . ."

"Bullshit."  He didn't _sound_ angry, but he was a far cry from his usual giddy persona as well.  Perceptor was taken aback.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Things have been weird between us ever since . . . well, you know.  You're avoiding me.  I'm the ship's _genius_ , Perceptor.  I can tell when I'm being given the cold shoudler."  He bounced closer, pouncing Perceptor from behind, and nuzzled a masked cheek to his scope-less shoulder.  "Care to tell me why?"

Perceptor's warrior instinct's kicked in at the unexpected and undesired action.  He whirled hard, easily dislodging himself from Brainstorm's embrace, and leaping out of the path of that dangerously seductive body.  Once safely distanced, he deigned to answer, noting with a pang of regret the sorrow that flashed across Brainstorm's optics.

"I cannot focus.  Ever since I saw you pleasuring yourself on those . . . _microscopes_ of yours, I've been unable to purge the thoughts from my memorybanks.  When you are nearby, the memories take over, distracting me from my designated tasks, and I am simply unable to continue on like this any longer.  There are things I need to accomplish, and I cannot do that, if all I can think of is you, valve overstuffed with microscope - a microscope, I might add, that looks disturbingly like my own alt mode."

Brainstorm hesitated, clearly unnerved by Perceptor's negative reactions.  When he spoke, however, his tone was cheerful.  "Well, lucky for you, I just so happen to know the cure for that exact ailment!"

"I'm not interfacing with you."  Perceptor's words rang out with a finality that caused that kicked-turbofox look to cross the jet's features once again. 

And once again the look was short-lived.  "Why not?  I obviously like you, and I know that you're into me too!"

"I am _not_ 'into' you."

"Of course you are!  I've got evidence!"  Brainstorm shook his head with a finger waggle, holding up a small vial of a clear liquid.

"That's not -"

"Transfluid!  Source: one Perceptor, painstakingly collected from the floor of my laboratory minutes after the event in question!"

Perceptor stood, dumbfounded.  "Why did you bother doing something so inane?"

Brainstorm's optics widened for a moment, and he let out a sharp laugh, tossing the vial into his subspace.  "Well, why _wouldn't_ I?"  To be fair, the reasoning _was_ completely in line with what he'd come to expect from Brainstorm.  Perceptor was losing this argument, and he knew that was something he didn't want.

"Come on Perceptor!  We both want this!  I'll even let you take charge!  I know that's what you like."  Perceptor did not want to ask _how_ Brainstorm knew what he liked. 

"And I even brought restraints!  You could tie my wings up!  Lock my wrists together.  Render me incapable of movement!  Mmmm!  OR, we could do something kinkier than that!  I've got a few more toys on me.  There's some mass displacement guns, for instance, that I think could be very fun with -

"Enough!" Perceptor snapped, gesturing his displeasure with a sharp jerk of his hand.  Brainstorm promptly silenced his vocalizer, his wings shuddering slightly, betraying his fear, most likely of rejection.

"Just because I admit to finding you attractive, desirable even, does not mean that I have any intention of interfacing with you."

"Why not?" Brainstorm was trying so hard to keep the piteous hitch from his voice.  Not that it mattered in the end.

"It is a terrible idea, from a both professional standpoint and psychological standpoint, not to mention a moral standpoint.  "The two of us work together, frequently in close quarters, and as we've already discovered in the past week alone, we do not manage well when, as Rodimus so charmingly put it, 'sexual tension' hinders us.  Should we interface, knowing you, you'll want to proceed in establishing a long-term relationship, and should anything go awry, as is likely in such a scenario, it would prove most detrimental to our work output, and I refuse to allow that to happen.

"And moreso, I know about _you,_ Brainstorm.  I know why you are interested in me, specifically, and I think it is terribly unhealthy."

Brainstorm froze.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean that, I cannot be what you want me to be for you, and for myself, I refuse to be used as some kind of replacement for anyone else.  It is unfair to both of us.  I don't want that for you, _or_ for me."

The fear that had shone in Brinstorm's optics so recently grew hard, cold.  His wings flared in anger and he stomped forward, though when he spoke, it was with a tone restrained, if only just.  "You presume to know what I want!  How _dare_ you!?  Has it occurred to you that I just happen to think intelligence and microscopes are both very attractive things?  Is your ego really so _big_ , that you think you could ever replace -" he cut himself off, backing away.  "Nevermind.  You're right.  I won't bother you anymore.  Don't know _what_ I was thinking."  He turned around and left the room so quickly, that Perceptor hadn't registered his movements until he was already gone.

What had he just done?  Why had he thought that bringing up _Quark_ of all things, was a good idea.  He'd wanted Brainstorm to back off, and he'd succeeded, he supposed, but at what cost?  Had he misread Brainstorm's motivations?  Did it matter?  Even if Brainstorm, on some level, wanted Perceptor for Perceptor, it didn't matter now.  He had hurt him beyond the point of redemption.

It was for the best, wasn't it?  Brainstorm could forget about Perceptor, and actually find a mech who could give him what he needed, and Perceptor could get back to work, right?

Only now, instead of his processor being trapped in an endless cesspool of lust at the mere _mention_ of Brainstorm, it would be trapped in an endless cesspool of guilt instead.  Which was worse?

He growled, sliding the door shut, and sprawling out on the recharge slab.  It was too late to deal with this.  He would ignore the pain, ignore all thoughts of Brainstorm, get some sleep, and wake up in the morning, recharged and ready to properly address the situation with his full processing power.  He just hoped that it would be enough, because somewhere, a small pang in his spark told him that he wasn't ready to lose that pretty teal mech.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that got suddenly depressing.


	3. Wanna Bet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor is worried about Brainstorm after their fight. But perhaps it is _he_ who should be worried.

Days passed, a week, two - all without being subjected to Brainstorm's presence.  The beginning of their isolation had been the hardest.  Perceptor had been drowning in a sea of guilt, thoughts turned to the morose at a moment's notice.  But time healed all wounds, and eventually, he became very good at suppressing. 

A flash of teal?  Clearly he was just thinking about his own, unsexy arms.  Shuddering wings?  A remnant of four million years of war fighting an army that was comprised overwhelmingly of jet frames.  Bizarre inventions that put the entire ship at risk of being written out of history?  What inventions? 

Actually, Brainstorm had been disturbingly silent as of late.  Intentionally avoiding the mech though he was, it was still a bit peculiar to not find _any_ sign of the guy.  Brainstorm was a boisterous bot, and when left to his own devices, his presence tended to become all the more apparent.  And yet, the past two weeks had gone by not only without his physical presence, but without his _metaphysical_ presence as well.  Where was he?

And so, Perceptor's two weeks of blissful peace came crashing to an end, do not to guilt, but genuine concern.  He'd said some hurtful things that night, and Brainstorm was not a mech known for handling conflict in a healthy way.  Swerve had locked himself away in his room for months without anyone noticing.  Surely Brainstorm could pull such a stunt as well, if he'd so desired. 

Brainstorm's hab suite was the first place he checked, but it appeared to be empty, and moreover, unused.  His workshop was next, but it was locked up, and when Perceptor had tried to hack in, he'd been struck with the image of an angry little Brainstorm trampling across his neural net with cries of _"Better luck next time!"_ The next thing he knew, Percpetor was being forcibly warped into his alt-mode, _and_ immobilized to boot.  He'd had to put up with some obligatory defacement courtesy of Whirl, before the copter had been persuaded to bring him to First Aid for repairs.   Clearly, Brainstorm had gotten better at security.

Perceptor was more cautious from there on in, checking for signs of Brainstorm in public areas - the bridge, the brig, the engine room, and of course, Swerve's.  But the mech was nowhere to be found. 

After exhausting all of his other resources, Perceptor's brilliant mind came to the conclusion that it might be best to check in with Brainstorm's friends as to his whereabouts and well-being.  Or more specifically, his _best_ friend.

"Brainstorm?" Chromedome asked with some poorly-suppressed regret that struck Perceptor as note-worthy.  "Why are you looking for Brainstorm?"

"It's been two weeks, four days, thirteen hours, twenty-six minutes, and eight seconds since I've seen or heard any sign of him.  We parted on bad terms last we met, and I wanted to make certain that he was all right."

"You're worried about him?" Perceptor was fairly certain that Chromedome was smiling behind his mask, or at least he would be if he did in fact have a mouth behind it. 

Perceptor broke eye-contact, suddenly embarrassed.  "Ah, yes.  I suppose I am."

It seemed that Chromedome didn't want to be helpful, however.  "While I'm sure he'd be pleased to hear that, there's really no need.  Brainstorm's been busy on a new project.  That's all.  He spends most of his time in the workshop these days.  Nautica and I have been supervising."

"Ah," said Perceptor, still not looking.

Perceptor was not known for being an expressive mech, but Chromedome must have seen something in his downturned face, for he then added, "Really, he's all right.  He thinks you're an 'arse,' but I know what he's like when he's legitimately upset.  He's fine."  And then, with a twinkle in his optic, he added, "But if you'd like, I can let him know you're worried about him."

"That's all right," Perceptor answered, shaking his head.  "I'd rather speak with him myself."

~~~

The conversation with Chromedome should, by all rights, have put his fears to rest, let him get back to his normal life.  And yet, here he was, feeling as miserable as ever.  Brainstorm had been sequestered away since that night, working on _something_ , the nature of which was a total mystery to Perceptor, save for that fact that this was Brainstorm, so it was doubtlessly going to be grandiose and completely baffling.  Part of him feared that the weapon was related to their fight. 

Would Brainstorm try to use it against him?  Was it some form of vengeance?  Or worse yet, did he intend on creating a device meant to win over Perceptor, whether he liked it or not.  Chromedome hadn't seemed worried, and he surely knew what had happened.  His fears were clearly unfounded.  Perhaps he'd just gotten so used to fretting lately, that his brain had defaulted to it.  Perhaps he should take his misgivings to Rung?

Or perhaps he should put them to rest, and trust that Brainstorm's life didn't revolve around Perceptor, and the much-regretted words he'd uttered during a fit of pique.  Or that perhaps, _he_ was the one whose life revolved around the other, at least of late.  Perhaps he needed a stiff drink.

  1.   That was the first good idea he'd had in weeks.



~~~

It was not meant to be.  Swerve's bar was closed, which was certainly odd, given that it was the middle of the evening shift, the prime time for a bunch of cabin-fevered mechs to get their drink on.  Curious, he approached the door, which willingly opened before him. 

Swerve was sitting at the bar, face buried in his arms, whole frame wracked with sobs.  Perceptor was on the verge of walking right back out again, clearly having intruded on a situation he had no business in, when Swerve called out.

"Skids, is that you?"

Perceptor froze in place, turning back to the small mech.  "No.  Perceptor."

Swerve perked up at his words, staring him straight in the eye with a look of wonder.  In one sudden motion, he was bounding over the bar, hurling himself at Perceptor and wrapping his arms around his waist in a tight, sobbing hug.

Perceptor had never known how to react to a crying mech, but he was certain that he was supposed to say _somethin_ _g_ in this kind of situation.

"Are you . . . all right?"

His words seemed to pull Swerve out of a trance, and he leapt away, as if burnt.  His eyes never left, however.

"You've gotta help me!"

"Why?  What's wrong?"

Swerve shook his head with great vigor, trying to gather his wits.  Once recovered enough to speak, he took a seat on a stool and began with his tale.  "I was in Brainstorm's workshop . . ."

That was never a good way to begin a story.

"And I may have - er - set off one of his prototypes . . . into my face."

And that was a worse way to continue.

"You really should stay away from that place.  Brainstorm's workshop is unsafe at the best of times, and you, in particular, seem to have an uncanny ability to fall victim to his experiments."

Swerve nodded, letting loose another sob.  "I know!  I'm so clumsy!  I'm an idiot who can't shoot straight!  Everybody likes me, but nobody _really_ likes me!   I'm no one's number one.  No one would side with me through thin and thick, they just like to have me around, y'know, in the background.  Scenery, Perceptor!   I'd have a roommate by now if anyone _really_ cared.  I'm completely awful!  I crack jokes to keep people around, because I'm afraid that I'm not interesting enough on my own, and -"

"I'm going to cut you off right there," Perceptor said, feeling incredibly awkward.  He'd scarcely interacted with Swerve in the past, and with his barest knowledge exacerbated by his weakness in social situations, he felt he was the absolute worst mech to deal with this situation.  Even Megatron knew how to handle a restless underling.  "What did the weapon do?  Knowing Brainstorm, it can't have been anything good."

"That's just it," Swerve sobbed.  "When it hit me, I was just filled with an overwhelming feeling of self-loathing, as all of the things I hate the most about myself were forced to the front of my mind, no matter _how_ hard I tried to make them go away."

"Hmm," Perceptor frowned, already deep in thought.  Had Brainstorm done what he'd suspected he might?

"What do I do, Perceptor?  I can't live like this!!"

Oh yes, Swerve was still here.  Perceptor worked out a solution with a moment's thought.  "I shall speak with Brainstorm, and see if we can't get this reversed.  In the meantime, I recommend you go to Rung.  I shall escort you, if you like."

"T-thanks," Swerve whimpered.  "That would be nice."

~~~

It wasn't a situation that Perceptor found entirely detrimental.  Swerve was upset, which was unfortunate, but his plight gave him a reason to talk to Brainstorm, and once Brainstorm's guard was down, he could speak to him about his own issues, effectively killing two birds with one stone.  He was feeling rather accomplished as he strode up to the door to Brainstorm's workshop, surprised to find it unlocked.  He stepped inside.

Brainstorm was hunched over a workbench deep in the midst of some project or another.  The sight of him was enough to send Perceptor spiraling back into bad habits, taking in the gentle curve of teal spinal struts, the delicate way the light above reflected off of those glorious wings.  It made him want to reach out and stroke them.

"Ah, Perceptor," Brainstorm said without turning to look. 

"Yes,  me," Perceptor responded.  This time, Brainstorm _did_ turn, eyes brightly smiling, as though he were pleased with himself.

"What do you think?  Did that greeting fill you with dread?  'How did he know it was me?!' you might be asking!  'He didn't even turn around!' you say!  'Could it have been the sound of my heavy footsteps?  The light whirr of my tiny, microscope engine, or perhaps the fragrant scent of science, lingering about my person?'  The answer? I'm just that brilliant!"

  While he'd thought nothing of the greeting, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit unnerved by Brainstorm's following description.  What was the 'scent of science' supposed to mean, anyway?  "I had assumed that you knew it was me based on surveillance footage." 

Brainstorm balked at the accusation, before turning his most attractive back on Perceptor.  "Well yes, I suppose _that_ is another explanation.   If you happen to be an uninteresting dolt.  Anyway, I'm busy right now, so I'd prefer it if you saw yourself out."

Perceptor took a few steps closer, noting the way that Brainstorm's frame stiffened with each heavy tread.  He stopped several feet away, not wanting to scare off the mech before his issues were attended to.  "I'm afraid I'm here on ship's business.  I won't be taking my leave until the situation is resolved.

There was a noticeable hitch to Brainstorm's voice when he spoke again.  "Oh?  What kind of business?"

"Swerve shot himself with one of your guns, and is currently in Rung's office, weeping uncontrollably.  We would like to rectify this situation."

"Oh, that," Brainstorm said, tension draining from his frame.  At last, he turned around to face Perceptor once again, lazily bracing himself on the workbench.  "I did tell him not to touch anything."

"What did you do to him?" Perceptor pressed.

Brainstorm shrugged, reaching behind himself to grab the gun he'd been working on, displaying it proudly for Perceptor's benefit.  "I call it my 'Laser Guided Angst Rifle.'"  He ran a sensual, reverant hand down the body of the weapon.  Perceptor did _not_ find himself wishing that those hands would to the same to him.

"It's a step up from the Existential Gun.  This one is primed to find the target's greatest weakness, and strike it, crippling them emotionally, mentally, and physically, as well.   Pure, genius!"  He ceased his stroking to give the thing a loving pat.  "Whatever the target is most insecure about, fears the most - whatever horrors are in their past, it brings them to the forefront of their mind, lingering around like an unwanted lab partner, until the target succumbs.  Honestly, _you_ were the inspiration for it!"

Perceptor's jaw dropped, momentarily unsure of how to respond.  Should he focus on saving Swerve?  Or would it be best to take the opportunity to talk about their own issues?

"I see I've left you speechless," Brainstorm laughed, doing the job for him.  "Anyway, if Swerve's been hit, then I guess I've got no choice but to help him out.  Some kind of happiness gun, maybe?" he pondered.  It was enough to pull conversation from Perceptor.

"That would be just as bad, if it's task is to dispense artificial happiness.  The idea is to bring Swerve back to normal, not provide him with even more uncontrollable feelings.  Surely that would cause irreparable damage to his psyche, especially if it wears off."

Brainstorm carefully lay his gun back on the bench, tapping his face mask in thought.  "Hmm, good point.  I'll have to ensure that the effects are permanent then."

"No," Perceptor barked, with enough force to make Brainstorm flinch.  "How many times has something like this occurred?  Perhaps the problem isn't just Swerve's sticky fingers?  If you'd only take three seconds to stop and _think_ about the consequences of your actions, then maybe . . ." He trailed off, painfully aware of the wide-eyed fear that Brainstorm was watching him with.  Perceptor had inspired Brainstorm to create a weapon whose entire purpose was to target one's greatest insecurities.  What did that say about Perceptor's character?  He took a step back, shaking his head.  "I'm sorry.  Nevermind.  I didn't mean that."

"You did though," Brainstorm assured, voice barely more than a whisper.  It was an unusual sound, to say the least.  "You mean everything you say.  I like that about you, I do."  There was pain in his optics, even as he showered Perceptor with praise.  It was hard to handle, even for a stoic mech like Perceptor. 

"Then I mean it when I say, I'm sorry," Perceptor frowned, optics filled with fire and intensity.  He was going to fix this.  Now was the time.  "You're frustrating at the best of times, frequently thoughtless, loud, and frankly incomprehensible.  And that's to say nothing of your disregard for personal space and property."  Brainstorm hung on his every word, eyes still wide as before, though his fear had been transformed, with confusion added to the mix.  "That said, I never wanted to hurt you; not now, and not then."  There.  He'd said it.  Brainstorm's reaction, however, was less than expected.

"Oh that?" He waved a hand, dismissively.  "I'm over it, really.  Well, I'm over what you said, not Quark.  I don't think I'll ever be over Quark."  He paused for a long moment, eyes travelling down to plant themselves firmly on the floor.  Perceptor wondered if this was one of those times where he was supposed to say something.  Once more, however, Brainstorm beat him to it.

"I mean, it's only natural you would think something like that.  I admit, you and he _do_ share one or two similarites - the microscope thing _is_ pretty hot, and who _doesn't_ like interacting with their intellectual near-equal?  But that's where it ends!  You and he are totally different mechs!  He wasn't a blunt, awkward, unsociable, overly-critical, humorless, killjoy like you are."  Perceptor's jaw did _not_ drop this time, but only because he was making a conscious effort to keep it in place.

"I'm sorry?" He wasn't quite certain he'd heard correctly.  Not one of those had been positive traits, though each of them was true.  High-capacity as it was, his processor shorted out as it tried to make the connection between any of the aforementioned descriptors, and the feelings Brainstorm obviously had for him.  "Then why . . . ?"

Brainstorm's focus was back on the ground, but the shiver of his plating and the twitch of his wings belied his flustered embarrassment.  "Well, I mean, you're brilliant for one.  And you're sensible.  I admit I go a bit overboard sometimes, but pissy Perceptor's always there to keep me from accidentally locking the ship in temporal stasis . . . again.  And I think your disgruntled face is the cutest thing.  And arguing with you is actually very enriching, and you're _not_ him.  You can never _be_ him.  And wouldn't that be worse if you were?  How awful that would be, to be reminded every day that . . . well anyway, we should probably fix Swerve."

Perceptor shuttered his optics, surprised by the sudden change in topic.  Brainstorm was a most unpredictable mech, but deep down, he'd admit that he kind of liked that about him too.  Maybe his calculations had failed him for once in his life.  Maybe this _could_ work.  Maybe it was worth a chance.

  "Y-yes!  We should work on that.  I have a few ideas as to a way we could reverse the effects of your weapon that should be easy to implement and rather expedient."

"Well," Brainstorm laughed.  "I have a few as well.  Do you know what this means?"

Perceptor could see the setup for an awkward joke a mile away.  He cringed, knowing what was coming.  "Don't say it."

"It's time to brainstorm!"

~~~

They had the cure worked out within the hour, and within three,  Swerve was back to his normal self.  Brainstorm was chastised by Rodimus as Megatron looked on in pure bewilderment, but walked off ultimately scott-free.  All was as it should be.  Well, almost.

"Perceptor, Rodimus needs to speak with you in his office," Chromedome said, before Perceptor had even managed to leave the room.

"In his office?" Perceptor scoffed.  "He's right over there.  Why can we not speak now?"

Chromedome leaned in close to whisper in his audial, "This is private business between Rodimus, Brainstorm, Jackpot, me, and yourself.  Please come with me."

And suddenly, it all made sense - Rodimus, Brainstorm, everything!  No wonder the co-captain had been so invested in Perceptor's sex-life.

Rodimus had somehow beaten them to his own quarters, as had Jackpot and Brainstorm, the latter of which seemed rather uncomfortable.    Perceptor moved to stand by his side, and in a manner that was almost secretive, offered him a hand to hold.  Brainstorm took it with a smile in his optics.

"So uh, I've got some awkward news for you guys," Rodimus began, leaning back in his chair with his feet placed firmly on the desk.  "Well, first of all, I want to give you this back."  He pulled something from his subspace - it was small, and white, and looked remarkably like Perceptor's pilfered cleaning rag.

"You!"  Perceptor released Brainstorm's hand and stomped forward, ripping his beloved rag from Rodimus's grimy hands.  "The nerve!  Zero regard for personal property!  Really, a captain should be _above_ such things!"

"You set us up?" Brainstorm squeaked from behind him.

Chromedome nodded sheepishly.  "I'm sorry.  It was just a harmless little bet.  I'd never thought it would get so out of hand."

"Though in retrospect, we probably should've," Jackpot added.

Perceptor retreated to Brainstorm's side, still affronted by the absurdity of it all.  Strange things were always happening on the Lost Light.  It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him.

"What did you guys bet on?" Brainstorm laughed.  "Who could get Percy to lose his head first?"

Chromedome and Rodimus traded furtive glances, but Jackpot stepped forward, proudly proclaiming, "I bet that the two of you would never sleep together."

Perceptor had known, but it didn't make him any less angry to hear it spoken aloud.  Brainstorm, of course, let loose with the giggles.  "How bored _were_ you!"

"Very," Chromedome admitted.  "And perhaps a bit overcharged as well."

"And what did _you_ bet?" Brainstorm asked, clearly finding amusement in the situation.  Perceptor was considering turning off his audials to spare himself the continued punishment of this conversation.

"I bet that you'd sleep together eventually."

"And you, Captain?"

"I bet that you'd be hooking up within three weeks," he boasted, and then, with a bit more restraint, added, "So _have_ you yet?  The clock is ticking."

"No," both replied at the same time - Perceptor vehemently, and Brainstorm with a nervous laugh.

"Ignore him," Chromedome said, stepping in front of Rodimus.  "We called you in today to fess up.  This isn't worth either of you, or any bystanders, getting hurt.  So from today on, the bet is off."

The room stood silent for a long minute, unsure of where to go from here.  The situation was already awkward enough.  Perceptor found that mostly, he just wanted to get back to work.  He coughed lightly.

"Yes, well thank you for taking responsibility.  I think I'll just be . . . leaving now.  I'd appreciate it if you did not meddle in my affairs in the future."  He paused, taking a long look at the once-pristine rag that he held in his hand, now rough and grimy.  His eyes narrowed.  "And Rodimus?  You owe me a new scope rag."

He stormed from the room, turning to spare a brief glance at Brainstorm.  The mech had his arms folded and his head down - the gears in his head were turning.  But Perceptor didn't care to stop and chat.  He wanted out of that garish room and away from the baffling company with zero sense of propriety.

~~~

Perceptor returned to his laboratory, and buried himself in work, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.  He and Brainstorm had made up, there were no more meddlers to deal with, and he'd co-created an agent to counteract weaponized mood adjustments, which was vital when Brainstorm, with his love of metaphysical weapons, was in the vicinity.    Imagine what other things he could cure based on that foundation!  In the end, he had to admit that he and Brainstorm _did_ in fact make a good team.

He finished with his work early that night, and headed straight to his hab suite.  It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to lie down on his recharge slab and spend some quality time with the new toy he'd made to vent some urges.  It seemed the universe, however, had other ideas.

"Brainstorm?!" he squawked upon opening the door.  The mech in question was sprawled out on the recharge slab in his best approximation of a 'sexy pose,' leaning on one arm, the back of his free hand pressed lazily to his cheek - mostly, Perceptor thought he looked like a human aerobics instructor getting ready to do some leg stretches.  But it was endearing nonetheless.  Also, Brainstorm was in his berth, which was not exactly a turn off.

"Funny meeting you here," he mused, eyes alight with mirth.  It was a cheesy line, but that was Brainstorm.

"This is my room," came Perceptor's reply, as he stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed.

Brainstorm sat up with a sigh, forgoing the posing and pickup lines in favor of blunt honesty.  "I'm trying to seduce you, you dolt!  Can't you just play along?"

"Yes, I am aware you're trying to seduce me.  What other explanation would there be for your presence in my room, on my berth, with the faux-sensual voice?"

" _Faux_?  That was sincere!"

"I refuse to believe that such a hokey line is your best attempt at -" he cut himself off.  What was he doing?  Brainstorm was here, ready and willing.  He was here, ready and wanting.  There was no reason to ruin the moment with his big mouth this time.  "Nevermind," he said, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him.  "Take off your mask."

Brainstorm's eyes lit up at that, and he hurried to remove the thing, tossing it unceremoniously to the side, and revealing his stunning mouth.  It may have been an exaggeration to say that Perceptor wanted to dominate that glorious, skilled little thing since he'd first seen it, but he certainly wanted to now.  So he did.

He was on Brainstorm in an instant, one leg on the floor, the other straddling Brainstorm's hips, mouth latched hungrily onto Brainstorm's own.  Brainstorm made a high-pitched whimper at the suddenness of Perceptor's motions, but melted into him quickly enough, wrapping hesitant hands around broad shoulders.  Perceptor's own hands had found Brainstorm's wings, and began gleefully exploring every smooth inch, committing each detail to memory, all while cataloguing the sensor clusters that made Brainstorm shudder and moan, as well as those that yielded little reaction at all.  His forewings in particular, seemed to be especially sensitive. 

Brainstorm pulled out of the kiss, panting, even as his fans ran on full blast.  "Primus, you're good at that."

"You sound surprised," Perceptor commented, minute pride at the compliment not quite conveyed in his voice.   Brainstorm, at least, didn't pick up on it.

"No!  No, no!  I always knew it'd would be like this!  I can't tell you how long I've been waiting for this day."  He was cut off by a surprised yelp from his own vocalizer, as Perceptor decided to test what would happen should he use his teeth on Brainstorm's right forewing.  Once the initial shock had worn off, however, the cry turned more into a pleasured whine.  "Oh Perceptor, that feels so good!"

Perceptor smiled against the wing, nibbling a little closer to the base.  His own ministrations were put on hold, however, as he found a skilled glossa lapping at the lens of his scope.  He shuddered, releasing a heavy groan.  "Brainstorm."

"Shh, let me take care of you," he whispered, venting cool air onto the moist lens.  It felt positively sinful.  Perceptor's fantasies had been right: Brainstorm's tongue _was_ skilled.  His hands were as well, working together with his mouth to leave no inch of scope unstimulated, untouched, unloved.  Perceptor was feeling downright _worshipped_ right now.  Unchecked, it was likely that Brainstorm could get him off by focusing on his scope alone.  He wondered how many lonely nights the mech had spent practicing on his own microscope collection.  What did it matter?  The results were worth it.

But Perceptor didn't want to get off to those deft hands and clever tongue working his already-sensitive scope.  He wanted to spike Brainstorm, wanted the valve that had started this all enveloping him, all heat and wetness and mutual pleasure, wanted Brainstorm panting and writhing as he thrust into him again and again, wanted to hear cries of his own name perforating the air.  Grabbing Brainstorm beneath the arms, he pulled him away, ignoring the sudden pang of loneliness in his scope, and instead shoved the squirming mech back onto the berth, crawling up to lean over him.

"What?"

"Don't want this to be over too soon," Perceptor whispered, before leaning in to nibble at Brainstorm's throat cables, curious hands left to explore the rest of the mech's body, creeping lower and lower, while Brainstorm arched into the touches all the while, more relaxed, more content than Perceptor had ever seen him.  He reached beneath Brainstorm's skirt plating, finding the panel that protected his interface equipment.  It released itself in an instant, allowing access to his curious fingers.  One slipped in, and then another, and Brainstorm's vents hitched; he let out a shaky moan in response.

"Perceptor . . ."

Brainstorm's valve was warm and ready, already dripping with slick lubricants  Happy calipers constricted around the intrusion, squeezing and releasing just so in a way that would've been mind-blowing on a more sensitive body part.  Perceptor imagined them doing the same to his spike, which sat behind his panels,  begging to come out. 

_Not yet._

Brainstorm shifted beneath him, gravitating back to Perceptor's scope, stroking, and mouthing, and _damn_ it felt good.

"Do you think I could take this?" he wondered aloud.  The way he stared at the thing, transfixed, was most arousing.  Perceptor didn't know what it was Brainstorm liked about microscopes, but with _that_ look on his face, it was at least worth considering.  Perceptor thought about it, how it might feel to have Brainstorm's valve wrapped tightly around one of his most sensitive mechanisms, pulsing gently, drowning him in a sea of ecstasy.  But as appealing as the notion was, he had to decline.

"You do realize how awkward that would be.  It _is_ attached to my shoulder, you know."

Brainstorm pulled back enough to pout, a look that Perceptor did not find arousing at all.  He curved his fingers sharply, brushing over a cluster of nodes within Brainstorm's valve, replacing the frown with a debauched pleasure.

"Cheater," Brainstorm whined.  "Let me fuck your alt mode, at least."

Perceptor repeated the action to similar results.

"You and your microscopes.  I'll never understand."

"Well, _you're_ a microscope," Brainstorm smiled back, which was a much better look for him than the pout had been.  Perceptor allowed it.  For two point three seven seconds.  "Ah!"  Brainstorm cried out, throwing back his head as Perceptor hit yet another cluster.

"How's this?  Bring your mass displacement gun by some time, and we'll see how it goes.  Tonight, I'd much rather take you with my spike.  If you do not object, of course."   He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his own lips, to sate a bit of his own curiosity.  Brainstorm in fact, tasted rather good - bitter, like low-grade energon, yet with the thick sweetness of jet fuel. 

"No objections here," Brainstorm squeaked, perhaps a bit distracted by the display.

"Good." 

Perceptor shifted to line up their hips, movements precise in the way that only he could be.

"What are you doing?" Brainstorm whined.  "You haven't even released your spike yet.  Please tell me you're not running tests.  It's not that hard!  Tab A goes into slot B!  _Whirl_ could figure it out!"

Perceptor groaned, not pleased with the thoughts Brainstorm's words brought to mind.  "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't bring up Whirl in situation of this nature.  Least of all while I'm in the midst of running delicate calculations."

It was Brainstorm's turn to groan, throwing his head back onto the berth in exasperation.  "Ugh, I _knew_ it!  What do you need calculations for?"

"For this."  All at once, Perceptor released his fully-pressurized spike, straight into Brainstorm's waiting valve.  He writhed, squealing at the sudden intrusion, though his calipers seemed pleased to have something more substantial to hold on to.  He gave Brainstorm five point six seconds to adjust to his spike, before he began to thrust.  In, out, in out.

Brainstorm threw his arms around Perceptor's shoulders, dragging him closer and disrupting his rhythm, though he was quick to adjust.  "Nice trick.  Never thought you - ooh - had it in you."

"I suppose you could say . . ." he paused, allowing himself a moment of pure, pleasurable sensation, before he continued.  "There's more to me than meets the eye."

"Heh, indeed." Brainstorm leaned back against the berth, making himself more comfortable.  He allowed one hand to remain on Perceptor's scope, stroking it with a lazy tenderness.

The two fell silent for several kliks following, lost in the roar of cooling fans, the soft grunts and gasps, the sound of metal crashing into metal as Perceptor's thrusts became faster and stronger, though no less precise.  But Brainstorm couldn't keep his mouth shut for long.

"It feels so good Percy."

Perceptor acknowledged him with a grunt.

"I mean that.  You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this.  Here, now, inside me."  He flexed his calipers around Perceptor's spike, eliciting shudders from the microscope.  "How's it feel for you?"

"Hngh," was all Perceptor could muster in reply.  Brainstorm's words were hitting him distantly, and sharp though he usually was, he didn't care to focus his processor power on deep conversation at the moment.  That could wait.  Right now, he wanted to savor the moment, savor the heat, and the wetness, and the hard metal of the mech below him, giving himself to him.  He was so close.

"Mmm, me too," Brainstorm groaned, words a bit hindered by his own need.  Perceptor had half a mind to kiss the mech, if it would make him cease with the distracting conversation.  Fortunately, it turned out that he wouldn't need to.  Brainstorm was quick to busy his mouth with Perceptor's scope once more, as though suffering an addiction.  It was one that Perceptor didn't mind. 

This was all happening too fast, however.  Perceptor could feel the overload nearly upon him, but he didn't want to release just yet.  Brainstorm was close, the signs were obvious, from the frantic way he clawed at Perceptor's chassis, to the sparks that were erupting from his thighs and chest, but current calculations predicted that Perceptor would finish a good thirty seconds before Brainstorm was able to.  That was unacceptable.  He slowed his pace.

"Percy?"

And moved  his attention to those beautiful, sensitive wings - stroking, pinching, kneading, with worshipping hands.  That should have sped up Brainstorm's process a good 80%.

"Percy!"  Yes.  That was the strangled sound of a mech on edge.  He was confident in his ability to time this just right.  Perceptor resumed his frantic pace.

"Perceptor!"  And that was the scream of a mech overloading.  Brainstorm's frame grew stiff, writhing all the while, while his caliper's contracted tightly around Perceptor's own overloading spike.  It would have been poetic had it been an act of random happenstance, but Perceptor had put much work into ensuring the simultaneous overload.  He thrust three times more, as Brainstorm's valve milked the rest of the transfluid from him, before at last withdrawing, collapsing onto Brainstorm in an exhausted huff.

Brainstorm didn't seem to mind too much, wriggling slightly into a more comfortable position, but ultimately content to bask in the afterglow, to feel Perceptor's comforting weight so close to his own body, to be filled with his fluids.  A wicked smile overtook his faceplates.  That couldn't have been good.

"Percy, do you know what this means?"

"That we have participated in intercourse, and that you were right and I was wrong, and I won't hear the end of it from both you and everyone we know for the next ten thousand three hundred and sixty two years?  Or alternatively, that you are about to say something really inane to make me cross with you."

Brainstorm laughed into Perceptor's chestplate.  "I was actually gonna say that this means Rodimus won the bet."

Perceptor frowned, glaring at Brainstorm.  He had half a mind to leave, to get up, shoo Brainstorm out of his hab suite, and forget all about the affair.  Rodimus may have ultimately had a hand in bringing the two of them together, but that didn't mean that Perceptor wanted to think about him, when he had perfectly nice, _beautiful_   little jet lying beneath him.  He refrained, however.  Brainstorm always knew exactly what to say to be an exasperating little glitch, but Perceptor would be mad to want to leave _this_ behind.  Instead, he rolled to the side, mindful of Brainstorm's wings, and snuggled close, taking in the sight, the sounds, the scents, forever saving this perfect moment in his memory banks.

"Yes, I suppose he did."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived happily ever after. At least for the next ten thousand three hundred and sixty two years.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more Brainstorm/Percy. The world also needs more Brainstorm fucking a literal microscope. You're welcome.


End file.
